It’s no secret sheared shrubs
are not saucy
topics for poems,
little gained
in contemplating the bare,
bark-skinned, erect limbs jutting out,
haughty in their loveliness
trimmed to the nub,
waiting for winter to buzz-off,
spring to turn the whole world warm,
crape myrtle bushes into summer snowflakes
after Bradford pears, forsythia,
embarrassing azaleas
pink with envy.
ACCEPTABLE LEVELS OF CRUELTY, STEADILY RISING
22 hours ago
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